


freefall, freefall, all through life

by gealach



Series: Thy fearful symmetry [3]
Category: Dark Wolverine (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Wolverines (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, On Hiatus, Other, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealach/pseuds/gealach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the end, the Wolverines face a final mission: a ghost must be stopped.<br/>Meanwhile, someone still lives.</p><p>Set post Wolverines #20 </p><p>
  <b>[on hiatus]</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Evanescence's _Weight of the World_.

 

So this was how it was going to end:

slowly bleeding out in the middle of nowhere, next to  _Creed_ of all people. The man lay prone and was groaning, and Daken could see the blood pumping out of his back: Mystique had gone for the killing blow even against her long-time lover.

The shack was silent, the quiet disrupted every now and then by sharp intakes of breath. Laying on his back, his gaze fixed on the roof, Daken could tell that the others were all trying to move, like idiots. They were all fatally injured and moving was only going to worsen the situation.

It was amusing, really: a bunch of murderers, dying together in a swamp. Daken wanted to laugh. Would they hate him for it? Oh, but what did it matter? They were all going to die anyway. Good riddance.

His hysterical giggles filled the air for a while.

Maybe this time he would manage to stay dead. Oh, how he hoped he would. If they died in this shack in the middle of nowhere, no one would ever  _know_ they were dead, and it stood to reason that no one would ever try to revive them. It was perfect. It was a good thing that all of them were loners by nature: none of them would be missed, none of them would be searched for.

No.

Not true.

Laura.

Laura would have been missed. She had teammates. She had  _relationships_ .

She didn't belong here – with him and Creed and Deathstrike and damn Shogun.

She didn't deserve to die.

Pressing his hand to the wound on his stomach, Daken rolled his head, sniffing to catch her scent. There was so much blood that it was difficult to locate her; when he found her, he raised his head as much as he could, squinting his eye in the dim light. She was slumped against the opposite wall, hands pressed to her stomach, rivulets of blood running freely. Her features were set – she wasn't emitting even a faint sound of pain – but she wasn't going to resist much longer.

He had to help her.

He  _had_ to. Laura didn't belong with the likes of them; she didn't deserve to die in a fucking swamp. Laura hadn't abandoned him – and he wouldn't abandon her.

He didn't know what the  _hell_ he could even do, bleeding out as he was; but reaching her was a good start, he decided. They could form a plan, maybe. Or he could lend her his own limbs to slow the flow of her blood.

Daken crawled. It was a slow, painful process; he didn't dare to turn into a more comfortable position for fear of worsening his own wound and dying halfway through; and so he crawled on his back, inch by ridiculous inch, sweating profusely, his organs shifting inside him at every slight bump he encountered, his nerves screaming for mercy.

He was going to die before he reached Laura.

He passed by Deathstrike and Shogun. They'd crawled closer to each other as well, and were whispering deathbed nonsense, hushed promises of love and safety. It was insane – they didn't even know each other,  _that_ was the truth, and they'd jumped into some sort of romance and they were  _dying_ , for crying out loud – but envy burst in his chest all the same. Shogun was trying to stop the blood coming out of Deathstrike's stomach, with no concern whatsoever for his own wounds, and Daken wanted to scream. Shogun ought to think of himself and instead he was trying to save Deathstrike. It made no sense. Even if Deathstrike truly  _loved_ him – even if that word still carried some meaning for one such as her – did he think that she would have thanked his cold lifeless body afterwards? No; she would have walked away.

Or she would have mourned over his dead body.

As no one would ever do with Daken.

He was going to die here, and he was still far from Laura, and what was he  _doing_ ? What could he  _possibly_ do to save her?

He was going to die here, and he was wasting time thinking about the two lovebirds. Let them swear each other eternal love if it was what they needed to die in peace – what did he care? Was it just the idea of his death affecting no one that gave him pause? That was ridiculous. No one would mourn him, and so what? He hadn't ever cared for such a thing –

_I thought you were dead_ .  Again . _I thought you'd blown up to pieces. I_ mourned _you_ .

_I trusted you._

_No_ . Gritting his teeth, Daken resumed his crawling. He wouldn't think about that. He wasn't going to think about that. He was going to reach Laura, and he was going to help her, and he was going to get her out of here, and he would  _not_ think about what he'd done to Johnny. He'd done the right thing. He knew he'd done the right thing. Johnny was well now, exactly as Daken had predicted; he'd regained his powers, and he was fine, and he was in New York, and he would never know – he would never  _care_ – that Daken had died in a stupid shack today at the hands of fucking  _Mystique_ –

“Daken,” was Laura's faint whisper. Oh, he'd reached her. He'd reached her and he was still alive. And she was still alive as well.

He tilted his head so that he could see her. She was terribly pale. “Hey,” he grinned at her. “How are you holding up?”

“I'm not healing,” she whimpered, perhaps the first show of weakness she'd ever displayed in front of him, and he bristled. She was going to make it. She _had_ to.

Now  _maybe you'll understand what it's been like for me_ , he'd told her just a hour ago, bitter and stupid, but he hadn't meant it. She had to know he hadn't meant it –

“Are you applying pressure to the wound?”

“Daken, it won't be enough –”

“Of course it will be. You just have to keep applying pressure to that wound. Okay?” He crawled closer still. “And if you have some way to communicate with the X-Men, now would be the time to use it.”

“I don't –” she broke into a coughing fit. He'd expected her to say it, of course – she wasn't stupid; if she'd had some way to get the hell out of here, she would have used it immediately. He listened, horrified, as she coughed and coughed and _wouldn't stop coughing_. With every cough, more blood pumped out of her wound, and her hands couldn't stop the violent flow. If he managed to get just a little closer, and he twisted, yes, like this, he could maybe press his own hand to her wound too –

“What are you _doing_?” she wheezed in between coughs, eyes wide.

“You're _not_ dying here,” he snarled, blood pumping freely out of his own wound now that he'd removed his hand, and he covered Laura's little hands with his, forcing them to press against her stomach.

“You can't –”

“I've frankly had worse,” he reassured her, but he'd always had his healing factor to count on, hadn't he?

“You're bleeding!”

“We all are, Laura.” He was starting to feel a little too light-headed. “But you'll make it. I promise.”

She was shaking convulsively her head, but that was the only thing she could do; if she tried to push Daken's hand away, she would have to remove her own hands from her wound, and surely she wouldn't be so stupid –

She was.

She pushed with a strength he hadn't expected in such a moment, blood streaming out of her stomach, and tried to shove his hand back. He fought her.

“Let me –”

“Don't you dare –”

“You're going to die –”

“You are too!” she snarled. 

“I don't _care_ ,” he snapped, and pushed her hands back against her stomach. She settled back against the wall with a yelp. “And now you've gone and lost more blood,” he spat, “Have you a death wish?”

“I don't want you to die,” she whispered, defeated, shutting her eyes, and he merely blinked, taken aback. She didn't want him to die?

“Why?”

“I told you.” She rested her head against the wall. Oh, she was so pale. “You're my family.”

As she'd told him after Paradise, after  _Sinister_ . Sweet, sweet Laura.

_You have no idea of who I am_ .

Her hands went slack. They still lay against the wound, but she wasn't applying pressure.

“Laura?”

He could hear her heartbeat – oh, so slow – but her breathing was far too quiet. She'd passed out.

“No. Laura, wake up.” He shook her gently. Any human would have passed out at this point; they'd resisted this much just because they were accustomed to far worse, and even if their healing factors were gone, they were the both of them _trained_ to withstand pain and go on.

But if she stayed out, she was going to die. She had to wake up. She  _had_ to. “Laura, please.” He shook her, careful to keep himself as much still as he could – because if he passed out too, it would be the end. For the both of them. “Laura. Laura, come on,  _please_ –” he pushed pheromones on her, pure adrenaline, but she wouldn't open her eyes.  _You can't die here. You_ can't _die here. Please, please_ , please –

There was someone else in the shack.

A stillness of the air itself, a presence that wasn't a presence. Daken froze, all his senses telling him to stay still. It couldn't be. It couldn't be  _him_ . It couldn't, oh god, it couldn't –

A massive shadow fell on him and Daken whimpered, furious with himself at the reaction, and tilted his head back, showing his throat, begging for mercy, hoping it would be quick, hoping that he would kill Laura quickly as well, that he wouldn't take her and save her just to  _torture_ her...

It wasn't _him_.

Daken stared up, his eye widening as he took in the figure looming over him and Laura.

It was a  _she_ . It was a beast of a woman, a giantess with a mane of wild, long, red hair, and she crouched beside Daken and applied pressure to his wound and she smelt of  _him_ . She smelt of  _Romulus_ .

“I'm the deus ex machina,” she said, cocking an eyebrow, her voice deep and rich and _just like Romulus'_ , and Daken let out a startled, horrified, hysterical laughter. _No shit. No shit._

He wanted to crawl away, as far away from her as he could. She made his skin crawl. Her eyes were black like coals, a smooth black surface like Romulus'.

“Calm down,” she murmured soothingly, and like hell he was going to. He needed to get away from her. She smelt of Romulus! “I'm a friend, I'm going to help you –” she was saying, voice low and patient, as if she were talking to a kid, and _help_? He had a hard time believing it. “ _Daken_ ,” she snapped, her free hand pushing against his shoulder, pinning him there. He stilled. Her eyes, god, her eyes were _just like Romulus_ '.

He whined. It was primeval, the only reaction possible.

“I am going to help you,” she said slowly, clearly, pronouncing every word precisely. “I've been looking for you, and I'm _not_ going to let you die here.”

She'd been looking for him? And she smelt like Romulus.  _Think_ . He had to calm down and  _think_ . What was her relation to Romulus? What did she want with him? Was she going to take him  _to_ Romulus? He wasn't going to let her. He was going to kill himself before he let her do it. Had he been stronger – had he been himself – he  _would_ have let her take him, in order to get close to Romulus again and finish him once and for all; but now, all he could do was  _do everything in his power not to be taken alive_ .

And Laura. He had to kill Laura first. Remove his hand from her wound, let her bleed out. It was for the best.

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Do not be stupid,” she growled, and her hand went up to grasp his neck. The gesture was possessive and threatening, her pointed nails – _just like Romulus'_ – almost digging in his flesh. She was asserting her superiority and his body was submitting already, too much of her reminding him of Romulus –

Was she a psychic as well?

“I swear to you, I mean you no harm.” She spoke quietly, gently. “I know you can tell if I'm lying. Am I lying?”

Never in his life had he focused all his senses on someone like he did then. His sense of smell, his hearing: they were all sharply focused on her. His eye studied her in the dim light of the shack, bloodlessness making dots dance across his vision, and her posture, her features – she looked honest. She smelt honest, her heartbeat was steady. Of the many telltale signs of a lie, she exhibited none.

But she smelt like Romulus.

“What do you want from me?” he slurred.

“I want your help.” She nodded. “Will you allow me to help you first?”

“My help. Are you blind?” He moved helplessly his stump.

“I do not require your physical skills.”

He grunted. Really, what choice did he have? She was pressing her thumb to his throat. If he refused, she could just make him faint and spirit him away.

Laura. If he left Laura here, she would die.

But if he let the woman take her, and the woman then brought them to Romulus, Laura would face horrors that would have made her creators' actions look like _child's play_.

But she wouldn't be alone. If they stayed together, maybe they could escape.

The woman was bending down to scoop him into her arms, and Laura would die as soon as he moved his hand away from her stomach.

“Her, too,” he said – he _begged_ , eye staring up at those black pits that terrified him, and she looked at Laura, he realised, for the _first_ time.

She narrowed her eyes. “The clone,” she said, lips curling in a snarl of sheer disgust, the word a curse and an insult, and she looked upon him again. “I've no need for her.”

_I won't leave her here!_

“Then I'm staying,” he coughed, felt blood coming up his throat – he was close.

“Really?” She cocked an eyebrow. “It's not like you have a choice.”

She was right. She was right, that touch of smugness in her voice made him seethe, and he was slowly loosing consciousness – he fought to keep his eye open, fought not to slip into oblivion, to keep his mind clear.

“You said... you want my help. That you... have no need... for her. So you need... me. And you... need me... compliant – and I won't be... compliant, if –”

“I am not your enemy, Daken.” She bent close to him, so close her breath brushed against his lips. “In fact, we have a common enemy. I know you smell him.”

Ah. So she would, in a way, bring him to Romulus – “I'm not leaving – without Laura –”

She furrowed her brows. “You're not what I expected.”

He laughed, the sound turning into a cough. “I live... to defy... exp– exp...”  _expectations_ , he meant to say, but his breath was uneven know, one violent cough after the other, and he was pressing madly his hand against Laura's wound, focusing all his will on keeping it there.

“All right,” she snapped, as if from far, far away, and he sensed that she wasn't crowding him anymore. She was still beside him, a hand on his wound, and the other had left his neck – there were tapping sounds, as of long nails on a keyboard. What was she doing? “The others?”

_The_ –

He remembered suddenly that they weren't alone. There were Creed, and Deathstrike, and Shogun. They were all still breathing, Creed's breathing only a bit more ragged than the others. He couldn't understand if they were still conscious, but there had been no cry when the woman had entered, no movement.

His first thought was: _leave them._

They would slow them down. The woman had obviously come alone – she'd come for him only – and now she was probably calling for help; and dealing with more patients would slow them down. He was confident she would tend to  _his_ wounds first, but the others? In what order would she treat them? She'd expressed disgust over Laura – over a  _clone_ . Depending on the number of doctors she could deploy, if it came to choose who to treat first, would she leave Laura  _last_ ?

But Shogun knew his control words.

Shogun was the only living being Daken  _knew_ that knew the control words, and the only one willing to whisper the fourth one in his ear. The thought of meeting Romulus while under the effect of control words was horrifying. The thought Romulus  _could_ know them sent chills down Daken's spine.

No, Shogun had to live –

And Deathstrike?  _Creed_ ?

After what Creed had done to him, leaving him to die here in this shack felt only right. Daken had waited for something like this, waited for the occasion to make Creed pay. He'd played nice. He'd played along and had been civil. Creed had probably thought he could fuck Daken over  _again_ by playing all concerned and fatherly, like he'd had after the Heat debacle – but there had been something far too strange in Creed's behavior, that had given him pause more than once –

But it all came down to one thing and one thing only, he reminded himself as his thought process grew more and more sluggish.

Had they abandoned him in Paradise?

Had they left him, limbless and eyeless, to bleed out there on that same floor where Logan had died?

“Save them,” he coughed, “Laura... first. But –”

“Stop talking.” Her voice was faint but he could still hear the urgency. He couldn't see her anymore, his vision blurred. “I'll do it, as they could be of use. But you're my priority.”

Why? What did she want with him? His help. A common enemy.  _I know you smell him_ . Who was she? An enemy of Romulus? He'd never heard of her.

“Who –”

“I told you to stop talking.” Her free hand cupped his face gently. It was warm.

It was dark. Cold. He had to keep his hand pressed against Laura's wound – he had to –

“My name is Remus.”

Remus?  _Remus?_

Romulus... and  _Remus_ ?

It was ridiculous.

The last thing he heard was his own hysterical laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remus is totally canon, you guys. I couldn't have made something like that up. She appeared in _Wolverine_ vol 2, issues 310-313. Yes, Loeb's run. _Lupines_ *shivers* It was pretty embarassing. Her eyes are actually red, but I've changed a few things in her appearance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning!** There's a brief mention of sibling incest.

 

 

“Sleeping Beauty's wakin' up.”

It was the first thing Daken heard as he regained consciousness, and it was Creed's voice: what a terribly unpleasant circumstance.

Then came a revelation: he felt no pain.

He wasn't being drugged; he simply felt no pain. As if he'd never been gutted. And that terrible exhaustion he'd been feeling for weeks was _gone_. He was –

He snapped his eyes open, struggling against thin sheets to gain a sitting position – he _tried_ to snap his eyes open, but only the right one did. To sit up, he'd tried to brace himself on both arms – but only one responded to his synapses.

He gritted his teeth. He felt great, he felt as he always had when he had his healing factor – and he _had_ healed: he could _feel_ it. There had been no sharp pain upon moving; he knew that, were he to check on his stomach, he would see no visible signs of the gutting – no scar.

He'd _healed_.

But his left eye was still gone, and his left arm as well. He didn't understand.

“Daken?” Laura's voice was faint and came from his right. Mentally kicking himself for his obliviousness, he finally turned his attention to the room. Had he been in an hostile environment – had he been in the company of the mysterious woman that smelt like Romulus, for instance – failing to assess the situation first would have been fatal. He wasn't in a hostile environment, thankfully; but that didn't excuse how so _little_ careful he'd been.

Now, he took in the situation quickly. It was a med bay... there were five beds; Laura's was beside his. On the opposite side of the room were Creed, Deathstrike and Shogun – the latter was still passed out. Daken recognized him only by the smell: the man wasn't wearing his red mask, and it was the first time Daken saw his face. He was a fairly forgettable man, his features plain.

Daken smelt no blood; all appeared to be fine –

Except... Daken furrowed his brow as he realized they were all restrained to their posts.

Hoisting himself up on his arm, Daken finally managed to sit up. He was the only one who could move freely. The others were bound in various fashion, depending, it appeared, on their very powers: Creed was held down by thick iron bands; Deathstrike had her arms tied away from her body and her hands encased with the same material. It dawned on Daken that Shogun might be forcibly sedated, as the mysterious woman probably didn't know his powers.

Ignoring Deathstrike's glare and Creed's concerned expression – which still gave Daken pause – he turned to check on Laura. She was bound similarly to Deathstrike, with the addendum of both her legs being secured to the bed and her feet being encased. She returned his gaze serenely.

“Are you all right?” he asked. He could see that she was, but he had to make sure. He didn't trust himself on his feet yet, or else he'd have walked over to her to check.

He was _showing_ too much concern, maybe, but he didn't care that the others saw. He just wanted to be sure Laura was _fine_.

“Yes,” she smiled thinly. “Yes, I'm fine.”

“Are you healed? Do you _feel_ it? I think I am.” As he said so, he pulled up the shirt he wore, standard hospital clothing. He'd been right: there was no sign of any scar on his stomach.

“We _all_ feel healed,” Deathstrike said with contempt. He turned to look at her; she wrinkled her nose. “Where are we?”

“Where _are_ we?” Daken repeated, cocking an eyebrow. “You ask _me_? You woke up before me, didn't you?”

“Obviously we all woke up here and _like this_ ,” she moved her arms as much as she could – which was very little. Her teeth showed in a snarl. “They'll pay for it.”

“But they healed us,” Creed muttered beside her. “The cavalry came and we're all here, healed and _trussed up like fowls_. Expect ye.” He looked at Daken. “Ye're all fine and dandy. Ye know where are we?”

“No idea.” Daken looked around. Obviously, there were no windows; the only way to get in or out seemed to be the sliding doors to the left of his bed. There was no apparent way to open them from the inside. There surely must be a camera, too –

“Over Shogun's bed,” Laura said, guessing what he was thinking about, and yes, there was a camera. It wasn't hidden; the mysterious woman didn't care that they knew they were being watched, because she certainly knew that they would assume immediately they were, and that they would look for and find any hidden camera within moments.

She wasn't concerned, either, even if she'd restrained his... teammates?

She'd put them all in the same room. She didn't care about them _talking_.

“There was a woman,” Deathstrike shook him from his thoughts, “I heard her before I fainted. She was talking with you.”

“Yes.” He looked at her. What should he share with them, exactly? His memories were fuzzy near the end. Remus – was it really her name? Or was it a hallucination conjured by his mind, affected by the blood loss? - had said they could be of use to her too, and that her priority was Daken. Was that the reason why she hadn't bound him? Because she trusted he wouldn't try anything... did she think he would stay put and wait upon her whims?

Dammit, but she was right in her assumptions. He didn't know who was she, and she smelt like Romulus... and Daken didn't like that. He didn't like that at all.

“And yet, you say you don't know _where_ are we?” pressed Deathstrike.

“I'm as much in the dark as you are,” he answered, “She said she would ask something of us.”

“In exchange for helping us?”

“Probably.” He shrugged.

“Yeah, but how did she found us?” Creed interjected, “Ye called her?”

“I don't know her.”

“She was tracking us, then,” said Laura quietly. Well. She's said she'd been looking for Daken, so it was probably so.

It would have been much better if she'd intervened _before_ Mystique did that number on them, though.

Ah, but _would_ have she intervened? After all, she'd expressed no interest over his teammates until he'd asked her to take Laura –

The sliding doors opened and _there_ , that unsettling not-quite-scent, that presence that wasn't a presence and that made his skin crawl. He turned – they all turned –

Creed growled low in his throat.

He knew her.

Of _course_ he knew her; he'd been Romulus' pet for a time. Why hadn't Daken thought about asking him? She would have heard anything they said, but at least he would have known what Creed knew... what _unsettled_ Creed this much. Anything that could unsettle Creed would have needed to be treaded carefully.

The woman stood in the doorway, arms crossed and head tilted to the side. In the light she wasn't as terrifying as she'd been in the shack, but she still made Daken's skin crawl. She was massive, of a build similar to Romulus'; her long thick hair reached the ground.

Deathstrike was the first to speak. “Who are you?”

The woman walked into the room, her gaze running over them all. “ _I'm_ the woman interested in employing you.”

“And _I'm_ interested in leavin',” Creed said, his heartbeat wild. Daken took note of that, apprehension creeping inside him. “Can I leave? Or are you gonna keep us prisoner?”

The woman fixed her unsettling gaze on Creed. “You are no prisoner.”

“Ah!” Creed snorted, the amusement only a façade. It was clear to anyone with hypersenses, and so, to nearly everyone in the room. “Nice one.”

“We're restrained,” Deathstrike said calmly, “If you want to talk business, free us.”

“In a moment. First, I need to resolve a matter.” The woman turned to look at Daken and he sensed that, behind him, Laura had stiffened: did she perhaps sense how _panicked_ was the woman making him feel? “Daken? Will you walk with me?” The woman tilted her head to the side, waiting for an answer.

 _No_ , he thought frantically, _There's no way I'll stay alone with you. No._

Had he any chance to refuse, really?

He cleared his throat. She wasn't a threat. She'd saved them all and then _healed_ them all. _She wasn't a threat_ : he just had to keep telling himself that. “Of course.” He made as if to stand up.

“Wait a sec, junior,” blurted out Creed, “Ye _know_ her?”

He looked at Creed as the woman waited patiently. “No. I told you.” Creed's transparent _concern_ sent his teeth on edge.

“Well, then be careful. She's Romulus' _sister_.”

It took all his self-control not to show anything at that revelation. He froze slightly, but that was it. Still, anyone with hypersenses would notice that – so everyone surely did – and Laura's heart skipped a beat, too. Idly, as he always had, Daken wondered _what_ had Logan told her exactly.

“One should be careful when dealing with _you_ , rather,” the woman said calmly, looking at Creed. Romulus' _sister_... it seemed so absurd to be true. “As you know very well, I hold no affection for my brother.”

“Yeah, but it's not like ye're a saint, no? Just be careful, junior.”

“I'll handle myself, Creed,” Daken tried to keep his voice level. Creed was acting _strangely_. Ever since the beginning, ever since Paradise – he'd been strange. Concerned. Attentive.

He'd played that game with Daken once; did he really believe he could play it again? It made no sense.

No; he seemed _genuinely_ concerned. If nothing else, he was maybe worried at the only one of them who could move freely being in the company of a person he obviously didn't trust.

Daken followed the woman out of the room, sparing a reassuring glance for Laura, who was staring at him, worry visible in her gaze.

They found themselves in an empty corridor. The woman locked the room by entering a code while she was in his blind spot and then turned to look at him, and offered him her arm. “Shall we?” She cocked an eyebrow.

He eyed her arm. “I don't require assistance. I may be crippled... but I assure you, I can walk.” _And_ stab _you, if needed_.

“Oh, humor this old woman.” She smiled, a feral smile that was maybe aiming for reassurance but only unsettled him more.

 _She_ unsettled him.

He tried to focus on details. She wore black paint on her face, and bone earrings hung heavily from her earlobes. Her garments looked out-of-date: a long tunic, vaguely greek in style. She hadn't blended in like Romulus had.

He forced himself to accept her arm; they surely offered a ridiculous picture, as he barely reached her breasts.

With a pleased hum, she led him down the corridor.

There was no one in sight. And he smelt no other presence than theirs.

“Are you satisfied with the health of your companions?” she asked after a while.

“Yes.” He bit the inside of his cheek. “What about Shogun? The man with the red mask.”

“He'll wake up soon. It takes longer to affect humans.”

“ _What_ takes longer?” he asked. What had the woman done to them, that they'd healed so thoroughly?

“Regenerative serum, made from my blood,” she said simply. He blinked, taken aback. Of course she must have a healing factor, or else she wouldn't have survived as long as Romulus... but the idea of having her blood in his veins – of being in her debt in such an intimate way – unsettled him. “I'm terribly sorry,” she continued, “I thought it would take care of your arm and eye too. Maybe another dose –”

No, he was done with hoping he would return whole. Every damn time had been a disappointment so far.

So, he didn't answer as they turned down another corridor. This one was empty as well. Was there anyone at all in this sort of compound? Where were they?

Where was she leading him?

“I treated the clone immediately after you, as you asked.” There was something in her voice, almost a _reproach_.

“Thank you.” He inhaled deeply. He had to investigate this. “Do you hate all clones, or just Laura?”

She gritted her teeth, lips curling up in a snarl. It was an ugly sound and a much uglier sight, and it reminded him – if ever there had been need of it – to be careful around her. She was _Romulus' sister_. She _terrified_ Creed. She was dangerous. What did she want with him, exactly?

“Clones _stunt_ evolution,” she spat, “They're an anomaly. Creating clones is playing God. I do not play such games; he's the one who does. Who _plays_.”

 _He_. Romulus. They were finally getting somewhere. Daken filed away her plain disgust over Laura and resolved to keep a closer eye on the woman when they were together with the others – just to be sure she wouldn't go on a purging rampage at Laura's expense. Then he steeled himself.

“So you don't agree with his methods,” he said slowly.

She stopped walking, and turned to look at him, and caught him by the shoulders. It made him seethe. Her next words sent shock through his spine, for how entitled they were. “His methods are wrong. I know you care not for my words, but I didn't know about you. We went separate ways long, long before that. Had I known, I'd have stopped him.”

“Had you known what?” he said levelly, exhibiting a calmness he didn't feel. His blood boiled with irritation, but every sense in his body screamed at him not to antagonize her. It was difficult to find a balance.

She furrowed her brows. “Only what Logan told me.”

“Logan,” he almost spat, detecting all to well the weariness in his voice. He looked away from her. “Of course.”

She let go of him. “Your father was a honorable man.”

“Yes. I know.” Thank God, what Logan knew was but a part of what Romulus had done. “When did you meet him?” he changed the subject. So, she felt _guilty_ over her brother's actions. It could be useful –

“When we put Romulus in the Raft,” she shrugged. Daken froze. He'd thought the monster was locked away; _that_ was what Logan had said when he'd violated Daken in every way that mattered, in the only way Daken would _never_ forgive him for.

He'd believed Logan, both anger and relief flowing in his veins.

He shouldn't have believed him. He should have known that Romulus would have freed himself from whatever hell Logan had put him into.

Now he was just in the Raft, a simple prison, and would soon surely escape. If he hadn't already.

Remus reached out, appeared to be _about to cup his cheek_ , but then shook her head slightly and turned. She resumed her walk. “Come. It's not far.”

 _What_ _is not far?_ He trailed after her.

After a few moments of silence, she spoke again. “Of course, I know that you surely think you can't trust me.”

 _Quite_. He didn't answer, waiting to see what would she say next.

“And that's reasonable, me being Romulus' _sister_.” She sighed heavily. “That's why I'm not going to hide anything from you. Creed would tell you anyway,” she turned slightly her head to throw him a curious glance, as if to ask him why was he in the company of Creed. “And you'd think much more of it than it actually is. You see, Romulus isn't just my brother, but my twin. We shared a womb, and much more. We were consorts.” She shrugged. “I'm talking about a long, _long_ time ago, when such things weren't frowned upon.”

She looked at him again, almost expectantly; he met her gaze as he kept following her. Did she expect him to jump or act shocked? He knew already that Romulus had no boundaries. This was nothing, if one took into account it having been an union between two consenting _adults_. Looking at her, Daken doubted she could be forced into doing anything. She was obviously Romulus' match in brute strength, maybe in cunning as well.

“I'm aware that a great many things weren't frowned upon in your time,” he said calmly. “Not that social stigma could stop him.”

He didn't know what possessed him, to make an obscure reference like that, but he wanted to see what would she make of it. How well did she know her twin? He wanted to throw her off balance, understand if she truly had known nothing about Daken... or if she'd said so just to gain Daken's trust with a bit of sympathy.

His comment passed unnoticed. “That is correct,” she merely said, no sign of understanding in her bodylanguage. Of course, he'd never read Romulus that well either: Romulus had lied to him for decades; and that was partly due to Daken's blindness, but must have been due to Romulus' abilities too. “I could say he has his own morals, and that would be acceptable in itself. But the truth is, he has _no_ morals. The world's his playground, and he's its god. How close-minded.”

They walked in silence for a while. So she was self-righteous, annoyingly so. From Creed's words, it could be surmised that she wasn't so different from her twin. She probably didn't go around doing _certain_ things that her brother had no qualms about doing – her talking about morals implied as much; but as for the rest, he didn't believe even for a moment that she was oh so mighty and pure.

No, she'd simply decided that she didn't want to play with her twin anymore.

Which, coincidentally, sat well with Daken. He didn't care about her motives, as long as it was sure that her long-term goal was disposing of Romulus and not playing some game on Daken.

“So you mean to stop him?” he asked as they walked.

She cocked her head to the side.

“He needs to be stopped. A mere human prison was a mistake. I _told_ Logan – but he didn't listen.” She sighed. How so very typical of Logan.

The man should have done Daken at least the _courtesy_ of warning him that Romulus was out in the world again.

They'd been on no speaking terms, but he _should_ have warned Daken,

“And you need my help for it?” Some sort of excitement was bubbling in his veins. _Exhilaration_. This was it; he would exorcise his own personal demon, once and for all. He had the chance to. Logan had took it away from him, but now he _could_.

“Well,” she slowed down and he adjusted his steps to hers as they turned into another – yet empty – corridor. “Yes. You may be of help. I wasn't entirely honest.” _How novel_ , Daken thought. “Yes, you might know things I don't, and in that sense, you could be useful. But I was looking for you far before I needed the information you may give me. I'd have gone to Logan first, but he was... already dead.”

That tightness in his chest at the words was still a novel reaction, despite all the months that had passed. Daken shook his head and focused on the matter at hand. “You'd have looked for Logan but you had to settle for me. And it's not about your brother.” She was being fairly evasive. “What is it, then?”

“This.” They'd stopped in front of a door. She opened it and beckoned him inside. It could be a trap. Damn it, there could be _anyone_ in there. Even Romulus himself.

But Daken couldn't smell Romulus. No, he smelt a faint scent of medicine and rheum. Whoever it was, they were old and –

“Obaasan,” Remus said as she walked in, and then, still in Japanese, slow and clear, with a pleasant lilt to her voice: “ _I brought him_.”

Daken froze on the doorway. In the room, there was a bed, and in the bed lay a woman. She was propped up against a great number of pillows. Remus stepped to the side to let him have a good look but he couldn't even make a step into the room. He felt he had to stay _still_. He stood and stared at the frail old woman on the bed, who tilted her head as she looked at him, a focused, almost pained expression on her face.

Daken couldn't breathe. Her features were delicate, her hair snowy, her face wrinkled –

He knew her. Those lines, he knew from his own face. Those eyes, he'd seen only once, in a mental landscape conjured by Charles Xavier... it had been Logan's gift to him.

She spoke with a quivering voice. “Aki?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ Remus was _exactly_ like her twin: she was using his mother's death to play him like a fiddle, giving him hope just to use him.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

The first thing he thought was:

_I'm going to kill you. I'm going to_ kill you _for this, and I'll make you suffer_.

Daken had thought he knew what true hate was – but what he'd felt for Romulus when he'd learned the truth was _nothing_ compared to the virulent fury that was boiling in his veins now. Remus had just climbed to the top of his list.

The old woman – it _wasn't_ his mother, because his mother was _dead_ – kept staring at him, her lips trembling, her gaze running all over Daken, breath hitching and heartbeat wild. He kept himself _still_. She was either a very good actress – maybe even a shapeshifter, and he reminded himself that he didn't know where _Mystique_ was – or an old woman who'd been brainwashed for the exact purpose of stabbing Daken and twist the knife inside him... to make him compliant.

Remus was _exactly_ like her twin: she was using his mother's death to play him like a fiddle, giving him hope just to use him.

Daken turned on his heels and fled the room.

The old lady cried out behind him, “ _Aki_ ,” again, and his lips curled in a snarl even as his heart skipped a beat. He kept walking quickly down the corridor, trying to retrace his steps. Remus wasn't to be trusted; he had to reach the others, take Laura and leave. No, this was a trick, a _fucked up_ trick, not the reality; the woman in that room wasn't his mother. His mother was dead.

But what if she wasn't, though? He'd never seen her body, had he? He'd never –

_No_. No. _Don't_ let _Remus use you_. _Logan found her_ dead _–_

He was seized from behind and he fought the sheer panic at the motion, as his feet left the ground... it was exactly what her _brother_ used to do. Daken focused on his fury. He snarled, a wordless sound, and pushed his feet on the wall beside them: she'd been stupid to grab him near a surface that he could use. He run his feet up the wall and managed to unbalance her, sending her staggering backwards as she weakened her hold on him.

He slid out of her reach and went to a crouching position, claws unsheathed, ready to slash at her. Remus was keeping at a few feet from him, hands up, her stance defensive now. “Listen to me –”

He lunged at her. She didn't react; she let him push her against the opposite wall, she let him stab her below her ribs.

Then she caught him again, in a tight grip he couldn't escape; her legs wrapped around his in a mockery of a coupling. He was trapped – he'd _let_ her trap him, because he hadn't thought about what he was doing: he'd given away his only weapons, which were now stuck inside her. He could retract his claws, but he wouldn't be able to move either way; so why not use the situation? He dragged his fist down to gut her.

“ _Stop_ it. Listen to me.”

_Fuck you. I'll_ die _here, but I won't let you mock me_!

He dragged his fist up and then to the side, and down again, widening her wound; he felt her warm blood on his hand. She let him do it, and kept holding him tightly. She wouldn't even react, because he was doing no real damage to her: she would _heal_. He heard a sound come out of his mouth, and again, and again, and he recognized it from older times. It infuriated him even more. She had no right to do this to him, she had no right to trick him and hurt him like this, she had no right to  watch him crumble –

“Shh, shh -” she shushed softly, as if she _cared_ , and he snarled.

“Fuck you.”

“Daken.”

“ _Fuck you!_ ” How dare she, how _dare_ she –

“Daken, she's your mother.”

He laughed – or was he crying? Fuck. He tasted salt on his lips. “You expect me to _believe_ that?”

“I know I _wouldn't_ believe me if I were you.” She tightened her grip. “But I'm not lying.”

“My mother's _dead_ ,” he snarled, “killed by the Winter Soldier, at your _brother's_ orders! She was buried at Jasmine Falls. I took what was left of her. I _have_ her bones!”

“You may possess some remains,” Remus spoke quietly, “but they're not _hers_. They're someone else's. That woman over there – she shares your blood. She _is_ your mother. I made tests.”

It wasn't possible. It _wasn't_. And _yet_ – “With what samples?” Had she took them from him whilst he was  unconscious?

“I confronted your DNA while you were out. I wouldn't have brought you to see her if the results had been different. You have to trust me.”

“I don't _have_ to do anything.” He fought to speak clearly against the annoying hiccups coming out of his throat, blinked the tears away to see her clearly. “If you think I'll believe –”

“You know I'm telling the truth.” She eyed him, her arms still horribly tight around him. “You feel it.”

“I _feel_ that this is a disgusting trick –”

“It's not. And you _know_ it. In your heart, you know it.”

His _heart_. He wanted it to be true. He couldn't trust himself, his senses, because as soon as he'd seen the old woman he'd been hit by a terrible nostalgia, an ache, a desperation. But no, he'd only seen in her features what he'd wanted to see, what _Remus_ had wanted him to see –

He slumped against the woman as he retracted his claws. “ _How_? Where –” How was it possible?

“I found her some time ago, in one of my brother's facilities, after he was put in the Raft. She was –” Remus hesitated.

“What?” He felt so tired. “She was what?”

“She was being forcibly kept under a coma. I took her, thinking her important. I tried everything, but she wouldn't wake up. And just a few days ago, she _did_. She –” Remus sighed. “I have to warn you... she has _memories_. She remembers things that can't possibly have happened – a whole life. At the beginning, I couldn't understand why had Romulus kept her – but then she said her name, and I recognized it from Logan's tales. She spoke of a son, and –”

He couldn't hear her anymore.

A coma, and a set of impossible memories. A fucking _coma._ How long had she been under it?

Maybe her whole life? Maybe ever since her “death?”

Oh, God, was it really her? Was it truly his mother?

Could he allow himself to believe it?

Remus let go of him and straightened him up herself, hands tight on his shoulders. He let her do it, too drained to move away. Was it true? Was it really his mother?

No, no, he was playing right into Remus' hands –

“Are you listening to me? She spoke of a son. Akihiro. In her memories, she brought you up.”

“ _Akihiro_ ,” he exhaled. It _was_ his name – the name Akihira had given him. Had the memories been _put_ in her mind by Romulus?

But why?

What kind of question was that?

It was obvious: to render him compliant, were he to ever be particularly difficult.

It would have worked; after all, wasn't it working right now? Wasn't he believing it, with all his heart, with an intensity that scared him?

He wanted to believe it. He wanted it to be true. He wanted it so much.

“She – she remembers bringing me up?” He heard the words come out of his mouth, but the voice was so weak that it didn't even seem his.

“Yes.” Remus squeezed his shoulders – her wound had healed. The wound he'd inflicted.

God, he couldn't see her. Who knew how Romulus had made him act, in those fake memories? Who knew what she remembered? How could he face her?

His doubts must reflect on his face, because Remus' features softened. “She knows you're not who she remembers. She knows – I explained to her. She understood. She's pretty sharp, for being a human that old.”

_That old._ She must be – God, she must be at _least_ eighty-four. He didn't know how old had she been when she'd married Logan; but that was the best case scenario. In any other moment, he would have raged at the thought of Logan plucking the youngest flower he'd found – and just after the war, at that. But now Daken hoped that it had been just so. Because the younger she'd been when she'd given birth to Daken, the more time she had _now_.

She was old and could die at any moment. _Any moment_.

“You explained her – what?” He looked down at himself. The shirt was covered with Remus' blood; his hand was coated with it as well. He rubbed his hand against the fabric, smearing the material. “I need to get changed.”

“There's no need for it. She knows you're a killer.”

“I will _not_ present myself to her like this,” he snapped. What need had there been for Remus to tell his... his _mother_ about that?

Remus eyed him, but took him by his elbow and guided him further down the corridor. He wasn't ashamed of anything – but he couldn't meet his mother for the first time like this. It wasn't proper. She could be shocked. She could faint.

God, she was so _old_.

But was it really her? Was it really – God – his _mother_?

Remus led him to a bathroom, and even closed softly the door behind him, leaving him alone. Awfully confident, wasn't she? He looked around, but there were no windows. Of course she'd brought him to a room he couldn't leave.

He had to remember that they were being _kept_ there, and that she was Romulus' sister. She wanted to use them, and she'd presented Daken with a _gift_. That was it. He couldn't trust her; he wouldn't allow himself to trust her.

He had to keep cool-headed and _think_. The woman in that room... she could be his mother as Remus said, or she could _not_ ; and there was no way to know. He wanted to believe it so badly, but he _had_ to keep cool-headed.

The bathroom functioned as a storage room as well, but only contained clothing, towels and blankets; there was nothing he could use as weapon, hide in his pockets and bring back to the others. He settled for doing what he was there to do.

The mirror over the sink showed him a stranger. His face was wet with tears, his eye red. He'd never looked so disheveled. Even when he'd been told of his mother's death, his reactions had been far more destructive than this. He'd focused his pain on the outside; he hadn't allowed himself to grieve. He'd let Romulus handle his pain as well, too drained to recognize the abuse, already formed to Romulus' liking.

And she'd been alive – _comatose_ – all along.

Bile rose up his throat, but he swallowed it down and set to work. He rid himself of the bloodied shirt and proceeded to wash himself thoroughly. The floor was a mess when he finished, and would need to be mopped – having only one arm led to unpleasantries like that, and it usually led him down a spiral of self-disgust; but he had no time for something that stupid and useless right now. His mother – if it really was his mother – was just a few rooms away. He would bite down his discomfort and attend to her. He had to see her, he had to talk to her, he had to understand.

He grabbed a shirt from a pile and donned it. Now he looked presentable enough, for as much as the situation and his dreadful state allowed – no blood, no signs of crying.

He opened the door to find Remus leaning on the opposite wall with her arms crossed.

“I'm ready,” he said, with as much firmness as he could muster.

With a nod, she pushed herself off the wall and led him down the corridor again. She was keeping her silence now, maybe sensing it wouldn't do her any good to try and engage him in conversation. As they approached the room, Daken felt his heart thumping in his chest, almost as if it were in his throat, a loud thundering in his ears. He felt – God, he felt as if he couldn't breathe... as if time was slowing down, and at the other end of this corridor there was something that could make it all work again, someone that could mend him.

Remus stopped at the door. “Go. I won't intrude.”

He looked at her, paranoia reaching him even through the ache reverberating in his body. What if she returned to the others and tried to hurt Laura? She loathed clones. She could. She wasn't to be trusted: he had to warn Laura to keep an eye on her –

She clasped his shoulder. “All will be well. Trust me.” There was a flicker in the black surface that was her eyes and she smiled that smile she'd offered him before, that thing that couldn't possibly manage to be reassuring.

How could he trust her?

And yet he nodded despite himself. His mother was waiting for him, and Laura would have had to wait. She could take care of herself. She wasn't a child; she was fairly competent.

With a sigh, Daken entered the room.

His mother... the old woman who _maybe_ was his mother let out a sound at seeing him, a little gasp that made him freeze on the doorway again. He felt as if he could barely stand, barely breathe. She looked so old, so frail, so vulnerable... so _human_ , laying against all those pillows and covered with so many blankets. She looked as if she would fade away any moment.

He couldn't move.

He feared the answer. He feared coming closer and realizing she wasn't his mother – he feared coming closer and realizing she _was_.

He didn't know what he could tell her. Oh, he had so many things to tell her.

He was shaking, he realized. Shaking like he'd never had. He'd experienced being angry enough to shake, but he wasn't angered now; it was different. It was a tremor he couldn't stop.

She raised an arm, the points of her fingers hooked by arthritis: the sight made his heart skip a beat. Even if it wasn't his mother, she was still an old woman. His senses wouldn't lie to him; it wasn't a shapeshifter. She truly was just an old woman; he would treat her with courtesy.

“Aki?” she called for the third time, her voice a tremulous contralto, and this time he steeled himself and answered.

“Sou nagaku toru tame moushiwake arimasen.” _Sorry for taking so long_ ; he spoke slowly and clearly as Remus had, surmising that maybe she couldn't hear well. It was a reasonable assumption, her being so old.

He was clinging to rationality, but there wasn't room for rationality here. He was desperately trying to keep it together, but it wasn't going to work for long.

“ _Come_ ,” she beckoned him closer, and it took all his self-control not to flee again. Step after agonizing step, he walked that insurmountable distance, his eye set on her... on the wrinkles on her face, on her old hands and yellow nails, on the way she sat upright despite the pains of her old age. She was frail, but she was clad in iron.

He finally stood beside her bed. Her smell procured him an aching nostalgia – as if it was something he'd forgotten, but that had always been in his mind, there for him to recognize it. It wasn't possible; he'd been a bloodied baby when he'd last been in her presence. He'd never smelt her.

She was looking up at him with beautiful dark eyes, the same he'd seen in Logan's memory thanks to Xavier, and oh, God, it _was_ her. It was her, it was his mother, it was her, it was her –

She patted a hand on the covers. “ _Come_ ,” she said gently, “ _Sit_.” There was enough space for him to do so, but he dared not... he feared what he would do. He was keeping it together with effort but if he sat so close to her, so close to _his mother_ , he didn't know what he would do.

“ _Sit_ ,” she urged, her neck craned to look at him, and God, he was an insensitive moron. She was old, and that position surely hurt her!

He complied, his heart thundering in his ears; her closeness, her scent, her _warmth_ brought a sob to his lips.

“Oh, Aki,” she said quietly, raising a hand as if to touch his shoulder, but she brought it down again. He was hit by the desperate need to be touched by her, if only for a moment, a blessed moment...

“ _What happened to you?_ ” she asked, her gaze searching for his amputated limb, his missing eye.

“ _Nothing_ –” his voice broke; he cleared his throat and tried again, hoping he would manage to keep his voice level. “ _Nothing important._ ” _Nothing's important anymore, because you're here. I'm here with you_. He didn't care if it was a trick, he didn't care how it was possible; he just wanted this blessed moment to never end. His mother. He was sitting with his _mother_ and she was alive, and all would be well.

She clicked her tongue. “ _None of that_.” It was so normal, as if she were used to him downplaying things for her comfort, and it brought another sob to his lips.

This time she reached out, and touched his shoulder. It shocked him. Most people wouldn't remember how it was, to be touched for the first time by one's own mother, but now he knew.

It was the most beautiful and terrible feeling in the world.

“ _Aki_ ,” she began, and then caught herself. “ _May I call you Aki?_ ”

“ _You may call me whatever you want_.” _Just call me. Talk to me._ Oh, his chest tightened so painfully.

“ _I don't even know your name_ ,” she said sadly, her fingers brushing gently his shoulder.

His mother was caressing him.

Oh, God, _God_ , if he were to die now, he would have died happy.

“ _That woman told me – it's so strange to me. All my life, a dream?_ ” she cocked her head, wonder and sadness in her voice. He ached to reach out and comfort her in return, comfort her over so terrible a discovery. “ _But you're here, and you don't know me, and you're my son, so she wasn't lying. It truly was a dream. I'm sorry, Aki_.”

“ _So you... you had doubts?_ ” She was as sharp as him, then, even if old. “ _You didn't believe that woman?_ ” He did. Oh, he did; but he wouldn't blame his mother for not wanting to believe that all her life had been nothing but an illusion.

“ _I thought it might be a terrible jest played on me by some of your – some of your enemies._ ” He had enemies, in this dreamscape of hers? Who was he? “ _But you're no trick. You are my son. My beautiful son._ ” She was still caressing him, _oh_ , and her words were terrible. He wasn't beautiful, not anymore, not like this. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

“ _So now, now you believe –_ ”

“ _A mother knows her child, Aki._ ” She smiled.

That finally broke him.

“ _O-o-okaasan_ ,” he cried out, like a child – and he couldn't stop the tears anymore, couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop sobbing that word over and over again, “Okaasan, okaasan, okaasan,” as if it was the only word he knew... the _only_ important word, because she was there now, she was there with him, she was touching him and looking at him with such a soft gaze.  She raised her hand from his shoulder to cup his cheek, and her palm was so comforting, her touch a blessing, but still he couldn't stop crying, he _couldn't_ –

And with a pained huff that made him wince in shame, she bent closer to him, and she  _embraced_ him, oh,  _God_ , she held him. His mother  _held_ him and passed her fingers gently through his hair as he cried and hiccuped violently, like a child; and he didn't dare touching her in return, for fear of holding her too hard and hurting her.

She held him close, held him  _gently_ , and he hid his face in the crook of her neck, ashamed and grateful, and inhaled her familiar scent through the mucus produced by his disgraceful display. Her voice was the soft whisper he'd always imagined it would be, when he was still a child, when he still allowed himself to dream of her:

“ _It's all right, Aki. I'm here. Your mother's here_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next: “It's fine,”_ she said, but he wasn't going to let her hurt herself for his comfort.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Daken didn't know how much time they spent like that, but it didn't matter.

He was a sobbing mess: he couldn't speak, no matter how he tried; he could only keep on crying, years and years of yearning and regret and pain bottled up for this moment. He desperately wanted to stop – he wanted to talk, he didn't want to present his mother with such a pitiful sight; but at the same time, her fingers between his hair were gentle and her embrace was warm and her voice was soft, and those were the only things he'd ever wanted. She was there, his mother was there with him – she was  _real_ . She was real, and she was holding him, comforting him... even as she surely needed comforting as well. He was a poor excuse for a son; he should try and calm down and talk to her, but he couldn't.

Eventually, amongst the tears, he hesitantly moved his own arm; he placed gently his palm over her shoulderblade, held her back with great care, and oh, she was so thin, so fragile, so terribly human and mortal.

He was holding his mother.

A sob, louder and more violent than the others, shook him to his very core.  _He was holding his mother_ : he was touching her, and she was real, oh,  _oh_ , she was –

Her breath hitched as if in  _pain;_ his heart skipped a beat at the sound, and in the pause that followed, filled by her heartbeat that sounded like that of a little bird, he realized with growing shame that he'd  _dug_ his fingers into her back. He hastily let go of her, horrified at himself, and tried to move away; but she held him in place with a strength that was incredible for a woman of her age.

“ _It's fine_ ,” she said, but he wasn't going to let her hurt herself for his comfort.

He raised his head, and found himself staring unto eyes there were so filled with compassion and unconditional  _love_ that his chest tightened painfully. He blinked the tears away from his eye and fought to keep his voice from breaking. “ _No, it's not. I'm sorry_ –”

“ _It's fine, Aki,_ ” she repeated, that name on her lips so strange but at the same time so undeniably _right_. “ _Don't apologize_.”

“ _I hurt you –_ ”

“ _I'm made of steel_ ,” she smiled, “ _And one might hurt others when in pain. The intensity –_ ” She cupped his cheek. “ _I see it your eye. You're scared, and you feel. You feel so much; I sense it. You're letting go._ ” She _sensed_ that he was _letting go_...?

His pheromones.

Once he attuned himself to them, he saw what she meant. He was releasing them, raw and wild; he hadn't lost control over them in such a manner for decades. But her mere presence was enough for him to lose it.

He reined himself in with some effort, not wanting them to harm her. She knew about his pheromones; and she wasn't that affected by them. Was she used to them?

How was it possible? How could she have developed a resistance to them while being in a coma? Maybe Romulus had  _worked_ on her –

“ _Ahhh, thank you_ ,” she smiled once the air was free of that suffocating whirlwind that his pheromones produced when uncontrolled, and his chest tightened.

“ _I'm sorry_ ,” he repeated, a lump in his throat, because he didn't know what else to say. He was sorry he'd hurt her, sorry he was crying, sorry that he'd lost control, sorry that she'd spent all her life under a coma just to serve as a weapon against _him_... He guessed that might be the only reason for Romulus to keep her sedated, ready to be woken up at the  first inconvenience.

Thank God he'd never woken her up. Thank God there had never been reason for him to do so. He could have hurt her in terrible ways, just to control Daken –

Or had he kept her to hurt Logan as well? To produce her someday, and lure both him and Daken into a trap, if needed be?

Oh, God.  _Logan_ . Logan would never know that she'd been alive  _all along_ . Logan would never know that she was alive, and in Daken's arms, and that she was safe now, away from Romulus.

Daken would keep her safe. He would protect her.  _In your name, too, Logan_ .

“ _I told you, don't apologize_ ,” she passed her fingers gently over his cheek as with the other arm she still held him. She was so close and so understanding and she was there. There with him. It was a miracle. He'd never believed in miracles, but this felt like one. “ _I understand. You must be feeling such terrible, terrible pain, Aki_.”

“ _I'm fine_.” And he was. Truly, he was. Because she was there.

“ _Ah_ ,” she clicked her tongue as earlier, and rolled her eyes in an amused, fond manner, “ _You're as stubborn as I remember._ ” The words struck him right in the chest, but he hid the stabbing pain by grimacing a smile. She patted his cheek. “ _You can't be. I'm a ghost, aren't I? That woman told me -_ ” she closed her eyes, showing a pain of her own for the first time ever since he'd come into the room. He ached to comfort her, but what could he do? He raised his hand to his cheek, to cover hers. Her skin was so thin and old. “ _She told me that you never knew me. That you thought me dead._ ”

“ _Yes_.”

“ _I'm sorry, Aki. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you._ ” She spoke slowly, her eyes still closed, such terrible pain in her voice. Daken shook his head as he felt a lump in his throat, and laced his fingers with hers. Her knuckles were terribly gnarled, due to her old age.

“ _Don't be. It wasn't your fault, mother. It was a horrible wrong done to you, done in malice._ ”

“ _But I –_ ”

“ _It hurt you more than me, mother_.” Saying that last word gave him such a sweet pain. Seeing what had been done to her filled him with such burning fury. “ _You were robbed. Robbed of everything, of your entire_ life –” She hung her head. “ _Of your son_ ,” he realized with horror, his own pain paling when confronted with hers. She'd _lost_ her son – not Daken; she'd lost everything that she _knew_ of him, and here Daken stood in his stead. “Aki” wasn't him. “Aki” could _never_ be him –

She raised her head, her eyes ablaze. “ _You're my son,_ ” she said fiercely, and his heart skipped a beat.

“ _I am, and I'm not,_ ” he tried to smile, “ _I never met you, mother. This is a gift for me. Your mere presence is a gift._ ” He removed her hand from his face and held it with care. “ _But this must be horrible to you. You know me, and yet you don't know me. You lost Akihiro, and you're_ stuck _with_ –”

“ _Ah, no!_ ” she cried out, shaking her head, “ _No, don't say that. I'm_ _not_ stuck _with you. What a thing to say! You're my son. I haven't lost you. You're here._ ”

“ _But your memories of me, mother_ –”

“ _We'll make new ones_.” She smiled so softly that he could almost believe it. He could almost believe they could do it.

He fought the lump in his throat. If she believed it, then they could make it true. “ _Yes_ .”

She smiled again, and he loved her smile, the way she tilted slightly her head, the light in her eyes, her wrinkles. She was lovely.

She squeezed his hand. “ _Help me lay down, please?_ ”

“ _Of course_.” Gently, he eased her back against the pillows, and rearranged the ones behind her head. He could spend all the time that remained him like this, he could spend all his life sitting beside her and tending to her. Oh, he would ask for nothing more, ever. This was enough.

She was looking at him, her hand on his arm. “ _My old bones need rest_ .” She arched an eyebrow, the gesture somehow similar to his, and his chest ached. “ _But I'll be back to my feet in no time, she says. That woman. She's so peculiar!_ ” 

He was suddenly abruptly reminded of the situation they were in. Remus was keeping them there, and wanted his help. Daken would work with her; it was the only way to make sure Romulus wouldn't hurt his mother ever again – and then, he would take his mother away. He only hoped, a chilling fear running in his veins, that Remus wouldn't turn out to be  _like_ her brother.

His mother was still talking. “ _\- exercise. I can't wait to feel the ground under my feet again! Do you like to walk, Aki?_ ”

He smiled; this time, it came spontaneously to him, not to hide his tears. Walk? As in, aimlessly wander around, no hurry, no motive, just walk and enjoy it? “ _Yes_ .”

“ _Ah!_ ” She clapped, a beautiful smile on her lips. She looked so endearing and radiant. “ _I'm glad. Will you walk with me sometimes, then?_ ”

“ _Every time you'll want to, mother. There's nothing I'd love more_.”

She sobered suddenly, maybe sensing the desperate longing in his voice, and caught his hand. “ _We will make new memories, Aki, I promise. We'll make up for the time we lost._ ”

“ _Yes_.” How could he doubt it, when she was there in front of him? Everything was possible, because she'd been returned to him. He wouldn't waste the time they had; looking at her, he feared it would be so little. “ _We'll walk, mother, and we'll talk. I'll take care of you. I swear._ ”

“ _And I of you_.” She smiled so sadly then, it brought such pain to his chest. He only hoped she didn't think he was robbing the place of the son she remembered. For a moment, he hated the memory of this “Aki”, this him that _wasn't_ him, but being jealous of a mental construct was pointless. No: he knew that all his hate was to be focused on the monster who'd ruined his life, who'd ruined _his mother's_ life.

She was caressing the back of his hand, holding it between both her old frail hands, and it was so right – the contact was frightening and beautiful. He thought he could die from the gentleness of her touch alone. Oh, she looked at him with such love that he wanted to cry all over again. He felt tears at the corner of his eye, but blinked them back. He shouldn't cry: he was happy. Why did he want to cry?

She tilted her head. “ _Ah, I hope you don't hate me._ ”

He started. “ _What? No, mother! Why should I?_ ”

She closed her eyes. “ _I look at you, and I – I'm old, Aki_ ,” she spoke quietly, “ _I won't stay long. I can't give you what you deserve -_ ”

Deserve? This was already more than he deserved. He could have never hoped for anything more. He caught her hand. “ _Mother. This is enough. Just this, being in your company now... it's enough. I dreamed of you for so long, that the smallest amount of time would still be so much._ ” He brought their hands to his chest. “ _I swear. I wouldn't lie. Not to you_ .”  _Never to you, mother._

She opened her eyes, and there were tears in them. He hated himself for making her cry. “ _Ah, Aki! You have such a big heart._ ”

He almost laughed at the words, but caught himself. A big heart? No, she'd got everything wrong. That was just his heart singing with joy right now, that made him speak like that to his mother, and that in turn made her believe something like that. He most certainly hadn't a big heart.

But for her, he'd have it. Her presence was enough to make everything in him spin. He was exhilarated by her smile, her warmth, her voice. He would sell everything he had for her, change everything he was –

Remus' unsettling presence brought him back to reality. He turned and saw her on the doorway, a grimace of apology on her face. She'd get changed from her bloodied tunic and donned another one, similar in shape. How long had she been standing there? “I'm sorry to interrupt.”

_Are you?_ Daken asked himself if she'd been spying on them. Were there cameras in the room? He hadn't even checked, so taken had he been. He cursed himself. She'd shown up at a stop in the conversation, so she most certainly had been watching. “What is it?” he asked quietly.

“The clone grows restless. She appears convinced that I'm brutally murdering you as they lay doing nothing.”

“Tell her I'm fine.” Of course Laura would be worried; she was so protective of him, and she'd surely sensed his panic at the prospect of being in Remus' presence, and she knew some things about Romulus. Added to Creed's own reaction to the woman, that was all Laura needed to worry. But he wasn't going to leave his mother already. He refused to. He'd just found her!

Remus cocked an eyebrow. “You think she'd believe me?”

He sighed. No. Of course she wouldn't. “Why do you care about what she thinks? She's restrained.” He felt just a tiny bit sorry for her, but he was irritated as well, because she'd led Remus to interrupt his reunion with his mother.

“Yes, I don't care. I thought you would, though.” Remus' voice grew distant and brought chills down Daken's spine. She didn't care about Laura at all; she _loathed_ her kind. She was keeping her around only because of _him_. If he showed disinterest  towards Laura, what would Remus do to her?

He didn't want to find out.

But he was with his mother! How could he abandon her –?

A slight change in his mother's breathing made him realize he'd tightened his grip on her and he released her, his heart sinking with guilt. He didn't dare looking at her; he'd already hurt her  _twice_ over the course of their encounter –

Maybe he needed to stay away for a while, clear his head. Calm down and control himself, damn him. He had to be careful in his movements, or else he would hurt her badly; she was so frail!

“Of course I do. Thanks for telling me. I'll come and ease her mind, then,” he said to Remus, and she tilted her head in acknowledgment of his words.

Her eyes unsettled him. They were unreadable; it was a problem he'd always had, reading those eyes. Was she amused? Irritated? Unconcerned?

He'd have to find some way to read her, if he wanted to survive in her presence.

For now, he turned towards his mother again; she'd furrowed her brows. He'd suspected it, but now he was sure: she didn't speak English. He caught her hand as he smiled.

“ _I'm sorry, mother. I have to go. I'll return as soon as I can._ ”

She merely nodded, a serious clarity in her eyes. Had she read the worry in him? Was he that transparent to her?

Of course he was; he was her son. Of course she could read him.

The notion brought a new tightness to his chest.

He stood up with reluctance despite his resolution, his hand hesitating over her arm. God, he needed to get back to her immediately –

“You can come and go, Daken,” said Remus behind him; she must have noticed his inner turmoil. “I wouldn't certainly ban you from this room.” Not even if he didn't cooperate with her? Still, he'd already decided that he was going to, so it shouldn't be a problem.

He was about to thank her, but his mother beat him to speak, her nostrils flaring. “ _What did you call my son?_ ” she all but  _snarled_ , her fiery eyes  fixed on Remus. He stood, stunned, staring down at his mother – a hunched human, addressing in such a way such an old and dangerous creature without a care in the world. “ _How dare you?_ ” she continued, hoisting herself up against the pillows to sit straighter, not an ounce of frailty in her anymore. It was stunning to behold. Was she reacting with such animosity over Remus calling him  _Daken_ ?

Was this what being protected by one's mother felt like? This stunned, grateful, overwhelmed feeling? As if he were a child all over again, being hit and insulted by boys who had nothing else to do than tormenting the outsider.  Whereas Akihira had preached  detachment , here she was, jumping in his defense like a fury.

It was – it was too much for him.

And it was dangerous. He still hadn't gauged Remus.

He held up his hand. “ _No, mother, it's fine. It's my name –_ ”

The look of sheer horror on his mother's face genuinely took him off guard. Still, such a reaction was to be expected. Hadn't she just showed rage at hearing him called like that?

She gasped and brought her hands to her mouth, tears filling her eyes. Oh, now he'd gone and upset her; he was making such a mess of this. “ _What kind of monsters give that name to a child?_ ” she cried out, “ _What evil creatures brought you up, oh_ –”

Now, he wouldn't certainly defend Natsumi, that bitch... but Akihira had tried. He'd abandoned Daken, yes, but he'd also taken care of him for ten years. He hadn't been an “evil creature”. Daken found himself slightly defensive of the man, despite the betrayal.

And they hadn't given him that name, anyway: others had. They weren't the monsters in his life: another had that role.

“ _No, mother. I meant it's my codename. Not my name; no one gave me that name_.” He spoke gently, trying to reach her through the little sobs she was emitting. He hated himself for her tears. If only he'd been more careful! Why hadn't he touched upon the subject earlier? He should have known that his name would have come out eventually, one way or the other.

“ _Why –_ ” she shook her head, “ _Why would you call yourself mongrel?_ ”

Because he was, simply. But that wouldn't calm her down. “ _It's a long story. I'll tell you, if you want_ .” So that he had time to decide how much to tell her. He didn't want to upset her by telling her how his childhood had been; truth be told, he didn't know what could he tell her at all.

How could he tell his mother that he'd spent his whole life under the thumb of a madman?

“ _Please, don't cry_ ,” he begged her as he sat beside her once again. He didn't want to see her cry. It was a terrible sight. “ _It's fine_.”

“ _Ah, Aki_.” She closed her eyes, dried her tears with the backs of her hands. “ _Forgive me. I'm such a silly old woman –_ ”

“ _You aren't._ ” His chest tightened. That she cared this much was a stabbing pain to his heart. Ah, what could have it been like, if she'd raised him. Had he been faced with the same cruelty, in those fake memories of hers? Maybe she was reliving an old pain. Or maybe his life had been quieter, in her dreams, and she was upset on his behalf, for not having been able to mend his wounds.

She cared. Oh, she cared so much about him, it was novel and terrifying, and so beautiful and strange.

“ _You aren't, mother,_ ” he repeated softly, and: “ _Thank you_ ,” he had to add. She opened her eyes, that were clear now, and lowered a hand to her mouth, shaking her head again.

“ _You thank me? Oh._ ” He'd said the wrong thing again, hadn't he? He'd upset her again – “Aki.” She grabbed his hand, held it tightly against her chest. “ _Go_ ,” she said firmly, “ _And come back. I'll be here._ ”

“ _Yes_.” Yet again, there was a lump in his throat. It sounded like a dismissal, but her eyes were soft and warm. She wasn't driving him away, she was merely giving him some space – giving space to herself as well, to digest this meeting. He got that; he really did. Still, leaving her was like intentionally letting a wound bleed and fester.

But he got up all the same. Looking down at her, he realized that he'd given her more than he would have wanted to, that she'd seen more than he'd directly told her. And how could it be any different? She was his mother, after all. She was his mother, and she cared, and she  _saw_ .

As she let go of his hand, he was hit by a sudden need, a stupid childish desire, an ache. Could he? Could he really ask for something like that?

Oh, he didn't dare. But her face was tilted towards him, those eyes were full of love, and he would try.

“ _May I –_ ” He broke off, embarrassed, but her encouraging smile gave him strength. “ _May I kiss you, mother?_ ”

Her lips trembled as she shut her eyes, but she hadn't been quick enough: for a fraction of a second, he'd seen it in her eyes. He'd seen the pain, and the  _pity_ .

But it didn't upset him. From anyone else, he'd have hated it; he'd seen it in Logan sometimes, and it had made him seethe. From her, though? From his mother?

No. It didn't upset him. It only dragged a void open into his chest.

She opened her eyes, and they were clear now, and soft. She smiled. “ _Of course. You needn't ask, Aki_ .”

It made him feel so little and inadequate. It wasn't something one should have to ask permission for, but he hadn't dared approaching her without it. She barely knew him, after all. With a nod, he accepted her words.

Then he bent down, his heart hammering in his ears, and brushed his lips against her old forehead.

When he rose, overwhelmed by her scent and warmth and by how terribly  _thin_ her skin had felt to the touch, he realized his eye was filled with tears once again, so much so that he couldn't see her through the veil they formed.

He blinked them away, and she was looking at him, so much love and sadness in her eyes. It was too much.

He forced a smile on his lips, and finally turned to follow Remus.

It felt like he was fleeing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Next:_ For a split second, Remus looked every inch her brother's sister.


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

When he and Remus went back to the others, Laura took a look at him and immediately struggled against her restraints.

“What has she done to you?” she asked with urgency, her gaze running all over him. He'd washed his face, but he doubted he could hide his emotions; he felt he had no control over his facial muscles, and he was managing to keep the pheromones in check only with real effort.

“Nothing.” He walked into the room and reached his bed, taking a look at the other occupants as well. Creed appeared as worried as Laura, brows furrowed, his eyes studying Daken. Deathstrike seemed unconcerned with him, her attention focused on Remus, and in turn, Daken forced himself to focus as well. From the tight line of Deathstrike's lips and the tension in her shoulders, he could surmise that Sabretooth must have brought her to date about their host.

Shogun was still unconscious.

“ _Nothing?_ ” Laura repeated sharply; the violent worry in her voice made him look at her. Her eyes were as ablaze as his mother's had been –

He looked away abruptly.

“What have you _done_ to him?” Laura demanded - as if she could pose a threat, restrained as she was. She usually was more controlled; she should calm down. She had no way to oppose Remus.

“Nothing,” Remus said serenely as he sat on his bed, “I merely made amends.”

“Amends?” Laura repeated, confusion in her scent and her voice, “Daken? Are you okay?”

“Yes.” He avoided her gaze. He could sense she was trying to look at him, but he didn't turn towards her, didn't do anything to permit her to see his face. Oh, he trusted Laura – but he didn't trust the other occupants of the room, Remus included.

He didn't know if it would be wise to disclose what Remus had done. Could Creed and Deathstrike  _use_ his mother, if the occasion arose? She was a liability; if Daken happened to fall short with one of the assassins, would they retaliate on her?

He didn't know Deathstrike that much, but he knew that the woman followed a code of honor. Hopefully, that meant not killing innocent elders, but Daken still didn't know if he was willing to take any chances with her.

Creed was another thing entirely. Creed was a beast and a rapist – he raped children, even. No one was a saint, in their line of work, and Daken was no exception, but Creed disgusted him. No, he couldn't trust that information with Creed. Yes, the man had been acting strangely for a while now, and seemed almost a different person – but Daken wouldn't put his mother's life in jeopardy upon a mere hunch.

The problem, of course, was that they were all going to be in close contact for a while, if the others accepted to work for Remus; and so, even with all the security measures possible, they would, sooner or later, notice something... like his mother's scent; or the slow shattering of his self-control, something that he feared would eventually happen.

“You _aren't_ okay,” Laura said, and he wished she would just mind her own damn business. At least till he took a decision.

“I _am_.” He decided to change the subject, to give himself some more time. “Remus, could you tell us what, exactly, do you want from us?”

Deathstrike nodded, looking expectantly at the woman. Out of the corner of his eye, Daken saw Creed grimace and look at Remus as well. He heard Laura inhale as if to speak, hold her breath for a few seconds, and finally get his damn hint and exhale quietly.

Remus stood, looking at them all, an eyebrow cocked in what could certainly be amusement – they were behaving like children and not hardened mercenaries – and then she moved. She passed Daken's bed, apparently headed for Laura's, and he fought the sudden impulse to throw himself between the two of them.

Remus stopped beside Laura's bed; Laura looked up at the gigantic woman with the most serene expression in the world. He couldn't tell if it was a challenge; but he had to warn her about Remus' opinion of her, lest she threw  caution away.

“Laura,” Remus said, “I'll free you now. Do please refrain from stabbing me; I like this dress very much.”

With no further warning, the metallic  encasings simply opened, leaving Laura free. Remus hadn't touched anything; how had she done it? Had it been done by someone else, someone looking at them through the camera and acting, perhaps, upon a gesture of Remus', or those very words?

Laura moved, but she merely sat up on the bed, and gave Remus a stiff nod. She would stay put, for now.

Remus turned, and went to Deathstrike. “Oyama-sama,” she bowed her head.

When Deathstrike nodded in return, the encasings trapping her opened as well. Deathstrike sat up like Laura, only sparing a quick glance for Shogun, but Daken was sure that Remus had noticed. Deathstrike was trying to avoid showing too much concern over the man, but it wouldn't work.

Lastly, Remus turned to look at Creed. “Creed,” she said firmly, “Will you behave?”

Creed nodded. He was a bit pale. Frankly, it was disquieting to see the man so quiet and submissive; Daken had only seen him like this with Romulus, and the display did nothing to assuage Daken's fears over Remus' true nature.

Creed's  restraints opened; Remus didn't appear preoccupied with him, turning her back on him without waiting for him to move, as if she could take him down with no fuss if he decided to attack her.

None of them was going to, though: not until they knew  _where_ they were and how many people were on site. That went without saying. No one in the room was that stupid.

Remus made a wide gesture with her arms, as if urging them to rise. “If you'll follow me –”

“Where to?” Deathstrike's voice was clipped.

Remus looked at her. “There are quarters for each of you down this corridor, and a room wherein we can speak more comfortably. There are refreshments –”

“We won't move until our companion is awake,” Laura interrupted her.

Remus turned to her, and cocked an eyebrow. “You don't want to split. I can respect that. Shall I have those refreshments brought here, then?” There was a note in her voice when she talked with Laura, and only her; not the loathing that was manifest when she addressed Creed, but something similar. It was clear to Daken, because he'd heard it, more forceful, when she'd talked about clones earlier; but it was still noticeable, and this time Laura had heard it: her brows furrowed imperceptibly.

“We'll welcome any refreshments you'll want to offer us.” Deathstrike again. It seemed she'd decided she was their spokesperson. “And thank you for offering lodgings. We'll hear your offer here and now, and then decide.” It was all well and good to act as if believing Remus' word on their being “no prisoners”, but a quick glance at Creed told Daken that the man was laboring under no such assumption. His grimace was clear to read: he thought they would have no choice; that Remus would try to restrain them.

The most unsettling thing was, this meant that Creed believed Remus  _could_ restrain the five of them.

“Very well.” Remus crossed her arms and leant against the doors. “As I mentioned, I seek to destroy my brother Romulus. I know Creed already brought you up to date as to his particular skills. I won't lie: he's a fearsome opponent. I could use a strike team.” She tilted her head, nodding at Deathstrike.

“Do you know where he is yet?”

“Not yet, no. He's very good at hiding.” Remus turned to look at Daken. “I'm confident Daken will have valuable information... but even if he hasn't, it won't take me much. Vermins like him tend to stick their head out of the dirt, eventually.”

“Eventually.” Deathstrike cocked her head. “You mentioned lodgings. Do you mean for us to wait here upon your whims, ready to strike whenever you _do_ find out where your brother is?”

“That would be the idea.” Remus smiled; Daken didn't know if it was intentional, but her canines showed. “It would be far easier to organise an attack if you're all on deck already, you understand.”

“Of course.” Deathstrike's smile matched Remus'. “Let's discuss payments.”

“Payments?” Remus cocked an eyebrow. “Why, Oyama-sama, I thought you were indebted with me. I saved your life: surely you don't expect me to pay you. Where's your honor?”

Before any of them could speak – Deathstrike looked aghast – Remus laughed. It was a deep rumble, so similar to Romulus' laughter when he was especially delighted that it sent shivers down Daken's spine. “Do forgive me, I jest. You owe me nothing; in fact, you owe  _Daken_ . Don't they?” She smiled at him in a way that he could only describe as conspiratorial.

He said nothing, dumbfounded.

“Do we?” Deathstrike said quietly. He couldn't make out what she was thinking.

“Oh, yes.” Remus turned to look at her again. “I never _meant_ to use your services, you know. You're only alive because he _asked_.”

What the hell was her angle in disclosing that? It would only make them distrust less. It was obvious she didn't care, but she must have an ulterior motive – it was too random.

Deathstrike kept her features carefully neutral, but Creed's face twisted in surprise. He seemed, for a moment, almost touched; which was ridiculous.

Deathstrike spoke levelly. “So you don't really need us.”

Remus shrugged. “No, but as I said, I  _could_ use a strike team. It sounds – how do they say in this century? –  _fun_ .”

Deathstrike grimaced; a beat later, she asked: “And the payment?”

“Ten billion dollars.”

That could only bring about a stunned silence. Daken himself had never been payed that much for a work, of course; he doubted  _any_ mercenary ever had. Maybe not even Deadpool; he knew the obnoxious, annoying merc had a high price, but not  _this much_ .

If he hadn't been sure that she must have resources similar to Romulus', this proved it. And it shouldn't surprise him; after all, how long had the twins been alive, exactly?

Deathstrike was pale. “Excuse me?”

“Ten billions _each_ , of course.” Remus tilted her head. “Forgive me, I should have specified.” She looked at them all. “I gather it piques your interest.”

“It does,” Deathstrike said, “But how can we be sure that you even possess that much money?”

Again, Remus laughed. “My dear child, I've seen empires rise and fall. You tend to build up a fortune, over that many years. So,” she smiled, “Do we have a deal?”

She seemed so damn sure they were going to accept – Daken would  _anyway_ , and she knew it – but Deathstrike shook her head, surprising even him. “I think we need to discuss this among ourselves, and with our companion. Do you mind waiting?”

For a split second, Remus looked every inch her brother's sister.

It wasn't an outward change – she didn't modify her stance, and her expression was serene... polite, even. But Daken had spent fifty years with Romulus. He'd learnt to spot the signs, because the level of annoyance would make a difference in how Daken would be punished; the way he reacted to those signals was all that stood between him and the more creative uses of Romulus' cruelty. He  _knew_ what vexation looked like, smelt like,  _felt_ like when expressed by Romulus; and Remus was his twin.

It was only with a real, conscious effort that Daken didn't drop off of the bed and to his knees.

Remus smiled. “Of course,” she said, no trace of irritation in her voice. But oh, it was there. “I'll have those refreshments brought here.” With a flick of her wrist, the doors behind her opened. “You're free to move around. If you'll excuse me.” And she was gone, just like that.

He wanted to go after her and beg forgiveness for Deathstrike's nerve, he wanted to beg her not to take it on his mother, but he felt frozen in space.

And among the terror, a terrible awareness: she held Daken in the palm of her hand. Not only by having his mother, but by being her brother's sister as well. Somehow, Romulus' hold on him had rendered him responsive to her  _moods_ as well. He didn't know if she knew or cared, he didn't know if she was honest in her desire to repent for what her brother had done to Daken, but he now knew – he'd felt it viscerally, like long pointed nails gutting him – that she  _was_ as insane as her brother.

“Daken.” Laura's voice was quiet, and very close; she was sitting on his bed. “You're shaking.”

Looking down at himself, Daken saw that it was true. Not overtly, no; but there was a distinct tremor to his entire body.

Laura caught his hand. He let her.

That was all he needed to know that he was thoroughly doomed: he  _let_ her.

He looked up, set on  _not_ looking at Laura. Deathstrike, who'd been watching him, averted her eyes and looked at Creed. “Well?” It was obvious they'd previously decided on letting her speak, Daken now thought, forcing himself to  practice detachment.

“Listen, that much cash tempts me like it would anyone else.” Creed grimaced. “But work _with_ her? Hell no. She's crazy.”

“She's also listening,” Deathstrike said quite serenely.

“She knows I think she's nuts. Her and her brother. They're crazy. Not the _good_ crazy –”

“I was somehow unaware there's a _good_ crazy, Creed,” Deathstrike said pointedly. Listening to them was calming; Laura's hand gently squeezing his was calming. He was behaving like a stupid child, but he couldn't help it, not now –

His mother! Was she safe from Remus' wrath?

Laura's harsh intake of breath told him he'd just all but crushed her hand. He forced himself to let her go.

“Look, I'm talkin' levels of crazy ye wouldn't believe. Not like I was. I was a _kitten_ in comparison, Deathstrike. I'm talkin' blood-thirst and cunning. They're brutal, they're on another level. Dammit, _Daken_ can attest to that! _Look_ at him.”

Finding himself the center of attention, Daken struggled for composure.

He failed utterly.

“He's scared shitless,” Creed said, “As he should be. As _I_ am. If ye want her money, be my guest, but _I_ won't be caught in the middle.”

“Very well. Laura?” Deathstrike looked away from Creed and at the two of them.

“I'm... with Creed.” Laura sounded surprised at her own words. “I know a little of Romulus, from what Logan told me, and he sounds like a mighty, dangerous opponent. He sounds like he's _deranged_.” Creed snorted and muttered something under his breath. It sounded like “ _no shit”_. “But exactly because of that, we _can't_ let him go. He's dangerous. He _has_ to be stopped.”

“Maybe it escaped yer attention, but we're no bloody heroes.”

“You're scared,” Laura pointed out, “That means you're afraid he could take a hold of you. That he probably already had, and you escaped his clutches. You'll never be free as long as he's alive, jumping at every shadow. Following this Remus is the only way to make sure Romulus is locked up.”

“I do think she wants to _kill_ him, child,” said Deathstrike.

“I believe that counts as stopping.” Laura spoke firmly.

“ _Or_ Romulus kills Remus. And then he captures us. Ye wouldn't like that, Laura.” Creed's voice was very soft. It was jarring. Whenever he used that voice, Daken wanted to strangle him, to force him to show his real aspect.

“As if you cared,” Laura countered, “And I wouldn't let him.”

“Do you really think he could overcome all of us _together_ , Creed?” Deathstrike asked, real interest in her voice, “Not a rushed, uncoordinated attack, but a concerted action? We're among the finest in our profession.”

The whole conversation was eerie. Here they were, amiably discussing, their words implying the whole group would follow the majority's decision. He'd felt it before – dear God, had it been only yesterday, when they'd decided to attack Sinister? He didn't know how much time they'd spent with Remus. Days, weeks, months? They had no real way to know. She could have kept them under a coma, for all they knew.

They were discussing as a team. Somewhere along the way, in those long days trapped with Mystique, they'd become a fucking  _team_ .

“ _Yes_ , Deathstrike, I think that. I'm tellin' ye, it's out of our reach. It's two titans fightin', ye get my meaning? We're in the way. Easy fodder. But hey, I'm not the only one who fuckin' knows this. Daken?”

All the things Creed was saying were true. Daken wouldn't have dared attacking Romulus, that day in Damascus, hadn't he been furious with all the shit piling up, all the shit Romulus had subjected him to, all those lies and horrors and for _what?_ For something Daken was never meant to have. And he'd never dared attacking Romulus if Romulus hadn't been already weakened by the fight with Logan, his guard lowered by the smug certainty that Daken would never turn and bite the hand that had fed, trained and tortured him –the hand that had touched him and made him tremble.

The only way to make sure Romulus was weakened, easy pray again, was to follow Remus.

Not that he had a choice, anyway. Daken would have tracked down Romulus and made a move either way, because as long as he was alive, Daken's mother wasn't safe.

“I'll work with Remus,” Daken said.

Laura squeezed his hand, and Creed all but started. “That's  _nuts_ ,” he said, “Now, Daken, ye're in no condition to –”

“Do as you will,” Daken interrupted the man. He had no intention to hear false concern in Creed's voice. “I'm staying here.”

“Hey,” Creed's voice was so soft it was nauseating. “Look, I get ye want to get back at Romulus. But ye – ye have one arm. Ye have _one_ eye!”

“I _noticed_ ,” Daken spat. “Your concern is touching, Creed, really. I'll handle myself.”

“Ye're a stupid little brat, _that's_ what ye are!” Creed snarled. “If ye have no sense of self-preservation whatsoever, I'll make sure –”

“ _What?_ That I _drown_?” Daken snarled back. Creed paled. “You think death somehow made me forget your stunt, Creed? Do me a favor and stop pretending that you care about me. It'll save us time.”

“I'm not – I didn't –” Creed grimaced. “I'm not like that anymore.”

“Sure you aren't.”

“And I'm _sorry_ , junior, I _swear_ –” He wriggled his hands. He was good, Daken would give him that. “I just want to make it up to ye –”

“Oh, for fuck's sake.” Daken rolled his eye. “Creed, spare me.”

Creed fell silent.

“But he _has_ a point,” said Laura. Oh, God, would it ever end? If the two of them ganged up on him, then they really thought that he was a weak, pathetic little thing. “Daken, you are in no condition to fight Romulus. And you _know_ that. _We_ will handle it and then –”

“I'm _not_ leaving!” he snarled at her, taking his hand away from her grip.

“I _get_ that it's personal, but you'll get yourself killed!” Laura looked and smelt genuinely upset, and even if it shook him more than he would have thought possible, it wasn't going to work. “I can't shield you on the field, I –”

“There's someone.” Deathstrike's voice was quiet, but shut Laura up all the same. As for him, he whipped his head in the assassin's direction. Had he been that transparent? 

Deathstrike looked pensive.

“Are you that blind?” she asked, her gaze never leaving his. “There's someone. He isn't worried about himself because he worries about someone else.”

“Yeah, you _don't_ know him –” Creed was almost laughing, but turned his head as he spoke, to look at Daken; and he froze. “Junior?”

“There's no one.” He had no intention of disclosing his mother's presence to Creed.

Even as he spoke the words, willing his voice to be calm, he heard the tremor in it.

“Daken?” This was Laura, grabbing his hand again. “Is she blackmailing you? Who –” she trailed off; he could hear the incredulity in her voice. She was wondering who could _ever_ make him disregard his own safety, and it was clear she'd thought it impossible up until that moment.

He didn't know how that certainty made him feel. His stomach churned almost unpleasantly.

But it wasn't important. It was as it should be. As it should be for  _anyone_ in their line of work. Creed and Deathstrike knew that.  _If_ they had a liability, they surely weren't going to flaunt it in front of an audience.

“She's not blackmailing me, Laura. It's simply personal. I need to put Romulus down.” This time, he thought with some pride, his voice was perfectly controlled.

“ _Lying_ ,” muttered Creed – evidently his voice hadn't been that much controlled. Daken gritted his teeth. Creed shook his head. “Holy shit, Deathstrike, ye're _right_.”

“She's not blackmailing me.” Was it true, though? It certainly could seem like it. His mother couldn't be moved, for now. He was forced to stay here. Wasn't it a blackmail, of sorts?

“She brought ye somewhere,” Creed said, “And ye were _wrecked_ when ye came back.”

“You'd been crying,” Laura added. Daken stared at her in disbelief. “Daken, you weren't really present after Sinister –” she trailed off, and motioned at him with a defeated gesture, “You cried. I _know_ what you look like after you cry.”

_Fantastic_ . That was what he got for opening up to his almost-sister, then. That was what trust brought to. He should have known. He  _did_ know: it brought only to betrayal.

“Daken.” Laura caught his hand again, damn her, her voice horribly soft. “If Remus is blackmailing you –”

“You're all aware that she's listening in, aren't you?” he snapped, taking his hand away from Laura's grip. “If you were going to propose _helping_ , you should rethink that.” Laura bit her lower lip. Of course she'd known that Remus was probably spying on them; she'd merely acted on instinct, seeking to comfort Daken. It was absurd how her worry could still take him by surprise.

He looked at the other occupants of the room. Deathstrike's expression showed nothing; she was just looking at him. Creed looked genuinely worried on his behalf, and that was ridiculous. The man wasn't to be trusted. He couldn't be trusted on this; on anything else, maybe, Daken could have tried to see past their grievances – but on this? On his mother's safety?

And yet, was there a choice?

“She's not blackmailing me,” Daken spoke slowly. At least, she wasn't for now. He would wait to see what Remus intended to do; but if she were to try something, having the others at least _aware_ of the situation could be useful, even if they decided to leave.

He was _relying_ on them, he realised. He wasn't sure he liked it, but needs must.

“She merely made me aware of something that brings her brother's death higher in my priority list.”

“Romulus has someone you care about, or you worry he might go after this person soon.” Deathstrike spoke as if it was obvious. Her not knowing Daken had really permitted her to read the situation more clearly. The others hadn't even thought about something like that; Creed looked still incredulous.

“Yes.”

“I understand.” Deathstrike tapped the tip of a long finger against her lips. “Do you require assistance in bringing this Romulus down?”

He stared at her, speechless for a moment.

She didn't wait for an answer. “I believe I'm in your debt. I would pay it now, if that sits well with you.” She cocked her head to the side. “Being _paid_ while I do it is a bonus, I won't lie.”

She could have already decided to work with Remus anyway; accepting her offer now would mean not being able to collect any other favors from her. This was disadvantageous to him, and she knew it very well.

But he didn't care. Deathstrike was a fearsome warrior, and having her by his side would be useful.

“Yes. It sits well with me.”

She bowed her head graciously, and he did the same.

Laura spoke next, her voice so very soft. “I'll stay, of course.” Not that he'd doubted that. He didn't want her to get near Romulus, but he couldn't deny she could be of use –

And then Laura looked at Creed almost expectantly. Which was surprising just in itself, and had Creed shot his eyebrows up.

“What,” he said, “Don't tell me ye _want_ me here.”

“You're a good fighter,” Laura said, quite matter-of-factly.

“And you _don't_ trust me.” Creed furrowed his brows. “Why start now?”

“I don't.” Laura grimaced slightly. “But we need you. Daken needs you.” He didn't _need_ Creed; that was preposterous. “Didn't you say you wanted to make it up to him?” she added, “This is your chance. Do it. Prove me wrong. And know that I'll take action if you betray us,” she said slowly, steel in her voice.

She was so tiny and self-righteous that in any other moment, Daken would have laughed at her. In any other moment, he would have laughed at her threatening Creed – _Creed!_ \- but not now. Not now. He didn't know why – _Lies_ – but not now.

Creed looked chastised, and looked down. “Ye're crazy,” he muttered. “Ye know that? Crazy.”

In a way, Daken agreed with the sentiment. He would never rashly throw himself at Romulus again, not with a proper network behind, not with a plan.

But this? This was as good as it could possibly be. He wasn't going to take any chances, not with his mother's safety on the line.

He wasn't going to let Romulus take her again.

Creed looked up. “Dammit. All right. I'll stay. One last mission for our team! How's that, huh?” he suddenly grinned. “Fuck, we'll get ourselves killed.”

It could certainly happen. But Daken wasn't going to go down without a fight.

He would take Romulus with him, no matter what.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
>  This story is now on hiatus  
>  **
> 
>  
> 
> I'm terribly sorry; I thought I'd manage to work on my thesis and write at the same time, but it's really impossible. I do assure you that I will soon return to this story.  
> [readers of my _other_ fic shouldn't worry, as a few chapters of it are _already_ written; I'm confident I'll be able to edit and publish at the usual pace.]
> 
> Happy holidays!


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